Infertility – Now What?http://nowwhat.cog7.org
Help and hope for life's strugglesMon, 19 Mar 2018 22:53:03 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.4The Tender Place in Childless Familieshttp://nowwhat.cog7.org/the_tender_place_in_childless_families/
Wed, 03 Nov 2010 18:56:27 +0000http://nowwhat.cog7.org/the_tender_place_in_childless_families/“Did that question bother you?” Debbie asked. We were studying the biblical story of Hannah, a married woman who for a long time couldn’t conceive....

We were studying the biblical story of Hannah, a married woman who for a long time couldn’t conceive. We discussed how she might have taught her toddler, Samuel, about God before leaving him to serve in the tabernacle with Eli the priest.

The study asked, “How will you, as a mother or father, learn from Hannah and teach your children?”

“It’s the wrong assumption that bothered me,” I said. “The study assumes any adult reading it has children. It could have asked, ‘If you are a mother or father, how will you learn from Hannah and teach your children?'”

Debbie nodded. I was grateful for her sensitivity — a cool salve for a tender place in me that others unknowingly bruise.

Guidelines

It’s a delicate and awkward subject: discussing children — or the lack of them — with couples married long enough to have one, or several.

After seventeen years of marriage, my husband and I remain a family of two. We still run into many questions concerning our childlessness — sometimes from newly met acquaintances, other times from long-known friends. From those experiences, I’ve gleaned the following ten thoughts. If you know a childless family, or if you meet one, these suggestions may help you avoid bruising someone’s tender place unknowingly.

Avoid asking “How many children do you have?”

The words how many imply the person should at least have some. Instead, when you meet someone new, try asking “Do you have any children?” first. If the answer is yes, then ask, “How many?”

After learning someone is married, please don’t ask if she has a family.

My husband and I are not a couple waiting to become a family; we are a family.

Avoid asking “Why don’t you have children?”

I’ve never found a good response to this question. Many couples do not know why they can’t have children. How can they answer? For those who have chosen not to have children, an answer acceptable to most people cannot be summed up in thirty seconds or less.

Subjects this intimate should only be broached within the context of a deep friendship. After you have developed that kind of relationship, try asking “Was it your choice to not have children?”

If the answer is no, realize the couple may be trying to conceive a child even now. One out of every six couples experiences fertility problems.* Many other couples conceive, but are unable to carry the child to term.

Don’t presume you know why the couple is childless.

Assuming they chose not to have children is a painful presupposition for those who have not been able to conceive. When couples do choose not to have children, they have their reasons. These may be difficult for some to understand. Others might have married later in life or have health concerns that prohibit childbirth. Perhaps as many reasons for not having children exist as do families without them.

Don’t assume you know how someone feels about being childless.

Believing she is devastated when she’s not is awkward, but supposing a person is not devastated when she is can be worse. A gentle comment like “I’m sorry if I hurt you when I asked about children” can open the way for the person to express how she feels. She may say it’s no problem or may confess her struggle, but no matter how she answers, your relationship can grow, based on truth rather than on awkward assumptions.

Refrain from telling someone that she should have kids.

While she knows you only want her to experience the joy and love for a child that you’ve experienced, telling her to do what she’s not able to do, or what she’s chosen not to do, can wound that tender place in her.

Don’t admonish someone for being childless.

To my dismay, some have called me selfish, apparently assuming I chose not to have children so I could spend all my time and paycheck on myself. Others have reproved me for breaking God’s law, insisting I’m outside His will because my marriage has not produced children. Proverbs 10:19 gives good advice: “When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise” (NIV).

Don’t avoid talking about your own children with her or in front of her.

I love to hear about children — their antics and off-the-wall sayings. Don’t walk on eggshells around childless couples.

Don’t expect her to produce children for you out of obligation, if you’re a member of her family.

Many parents look forward to grandparenting, but she may not be able to fulfill your expectation. And if she has chosen not to have children, your expectation will not likely change her mind. Your words can be hurtful and embarrassing when you tease her for not giving you grandchildren, nieces, or nephews and when you hint about her doing so — especially in front of other people.

If you are concerned about a couple’s ability to make you a grandparent, aunt, or uncle, or if you have questions about their intentions, find a gentle, respectful way to ask (in private, please).

Be aware that holidays can be painful — particularly those that seem centered around children, like Christmas.

A couple may feel especially awkward on Mother’s and Father’s Day. While we should continue honoring parents in special places like church services, childless couples may be embarrassed when mothers or fathers are asked to stand or when flowers are pinned on every parent.

One recent Mother’s Day, my husband took me out to dinner after church. When the hostess held out a red carnation, I automatically confessed, “Oh, I’m not a mother.”

“It’s okay,” she said without hesitation. “We’re giving them to all the women.”

I will never forget that young lady’s quick kindness or the red carnation that adorned my home for days. Her simple gesture touched that tender place in me. I will never again decline a flower on Mother’s Day.

For those childless families who long for a child, God may yet place one in their arms as He did for Hannah. But whether we wait and wonder, or whether we choose to remain a family of two, we’re always grateful for the cool salve of sensitive friends and family who treat us gently and with respect.

*Married, No Children, Dr. James Dobson’s Focus on the Family Bulletin, October 1996.

]]>Tips for Helping Infertile Coupleshttp://nowwhat.cog7.org/tips_for_helping_infertile_couples/
Wed, 03 Nov 2010 18:56:27 +0000http://nowwhat.cog7.org/tips_for_helping_infertile_couples/Infertile couples are everywhere — in our churches, small groups, families, and neighborhoods. In fact, one out of every six couples in America experience infertility....

]]>Infertile couples are everywhere — in our churches, small groups, families, and neighborhoods. In fact, one out of every six couples in America experience infertility. And despite their polite smiles, these couples are often hurting — filled with longing, pain, and questions that have no easy answers. They may even be in the midst of a spiritual crisis that is shaking the foundations of their faith.

Yet just when they most need help most, they often find others a source of added stress. How can we help infertile couples in a way that helps and doesn’t hurt them? Here are some suggestions.

Don’ts

Don’t try to make the infertile couple feel better by complaining about your own children or by telling them they are “lucky” not to have to deal with the stresses of having children.

Don’t offer unsolicited advice on how to get pregnant. Suggestions such as “Just relax” or “If you just adopt” are not helpful.

Don’t assure the couple that God will give them a child. There are no guarantees that every couple will be able to have children.

Don’t ask a childless couple “So when are you going to start a family?” The two of them already are a family. Children expand a family; they don’t make one.

Don’t avoid any mention of children or pregnancy. Your awkwardness will only make the couple feel awkward as well.

Don’t offer reasons or excuses for God. Telling a couple why God may not want them to have children is not only painful but presumptuous.

Do’s

Do let the couple know that you’re continuing to pray for them.

Do remember them on special days, such as Mother’s Day. A simple note saying “I know this is a hard day for you. Just wanted to let you that you’re in my thoughts and prayers” can mean much.

Do be sensitive about asking the couple to be involved in children’s ministries. Some infertile couples find joy in serving children, while others find it difficult. The choice must be left to them, without any pressure or incrimination if they should choose not to be involved. The same applies to attending events, such as baby showers.

Do feel free to ask questions. If the couple is seeking treatment, inquire as to how they are managing. Infertility treatments can be emotionally, physically, and financially stressful. Couples will feel cared for when you ask about how they are doing rather than if the treatments are “working.”

Do realize that infertility is often a long, painful journey. It is not something that goes away in a few months or that the couple will soon “get over.”

Do provide the couple with a safe place for venting their spiritual questions and doubts. It is not unusual for such couples to question God’s love or fairness. A listening ear is more helpful than pat answers.

]]>“Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. . . .” It’s such a simple song. I learned it as a child and sang it probably a thousand times. I never thought to doubt it, until a few short years ago. After all, God’s love was the first thing I learned about in church, the most basic element of faith. So why did I, a Christian for twenty years, suddenly have my doubts?

It was my thirty-fifth birthday. Thirty-five is a milestone of sorts, when all the good statistics for pregnancy decrease while the bad ones take a giant leap forward. Of course, I’d always planned to have a house full of children by the time I was thirty-five, so the stats weren’t going to matter. But my plans obviously weren’t the same as God’s.

Party face

I would have liked to spend the day huddled in a corner with my tears, but my husband, Ted, planned a small party for me instead. Balloons were attached to the banister, a candle-laden cake sat on the table, and next to it lay a stack of party hats and whistles. It all looked so cheerful, so bright, so it-doesn’t-matter-that-I’m-thirty-five-and-still-don’t-have-children. The least I could do was swallow my depressing thoughts and pretend to have a good time.

Soon, our friends came.

“Happy birthday, old lady,” Wayne grinned as he stepped through the doorway and deposited a package on the end table. After him came Sue, Lisa, Sam, and finally my best friend, Lynn.

“How are you doing?” Lynn whispered as she gave me a hug. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

The rest of the party was uneventful. I made my wish — not to spit all over the cake — and blew out the candles. I groaned appropriately when I opened a few gag gifts from the others: the little-old-lady cane from Sue and Wayne; the bottle of Geritol from Lisa; the extra-large-print Bible from Lynn and Sam. I told a few jokes and cut an especially big piece of chocolate cake for Wayne, since he’d been caught sneaking a piece early at the last party we’d all been to. I smiled at all the right times and laughed when I was supposed to.

Broken heart

On the outside, I appeared to be holding myself together. But all the while, I felt my heart breaking a little more every minute. With each gift I opened, with each candle that sent a thin wisp of smoke curling toward the ceiling, with each “old lady” joke I endured, I came closer to the realization that my hopes for a child would most likely never become reality.

As the evening drew to a close, I gathered up the cake plates and took them into the kitchen. I set them near the sink, then lowered my head.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s up?”

I turned to see Lynn, with her hands full of the remaining cake dishes, behind me.

“I’m thirty-five today,” I answered, as if that should explain everything.

Lynn looked at me for a moment, then set her dishes next to mine. “It’s the baby thing, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

Hard reality

Lynn began scraping leftover frosting from the dishes into the garbage. “Infertility can be a real surprise,” she murmured at last. “I really thought you’d get pregnant right away. I can’t believe it’s taken so long.”

“Why has it taken so long?” My voice grew softer. “Does God hate me or something?”

Lynn didn’t answer. Instead, she just kept scraping away and piling the empty dishes on the counter.

A harsh laugh escaped my lips. “Ted and I were so stupid,” I grumbled. “We kept thinking that God would surely bless us soon. ‘Any month now,’ we’d say, believing that we’d soon be rejoicing and thanking God and that all the doubts, all the pain, would be behind us.” I snorted and shook my head.

Lynn sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. I just don’t understand why God won’t bless me.”

Mystery

Lynn frowned. “I wish I had some answers for you, but I don’t. I know you’ve been faithful. I know you’ve delighted yourself in Him. So why you’re still childless is a mystery to me.”

“Maybe all that stuff about God loving us is really just a bunch of garbage,” I stated.

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?”

Silence invaded the kitchen as Lynn turned and looked at me for a long moment. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she looped the dishtowel over the hook then came toward me. Gently, she put her arms around me and drew me close. Eventually, she spoke. “I know it’s hard. Doubts are normal when you’ve been through as much as you have. But one thing I know: God loves you. And I love you, too.”

True friend

Lynn held me close as her words settled in my heart. I was not alone.

I remembered all the times she had gone down to the altar with me, prayed for me, wept with me. Whatever else I doubted, one thing I knew: Lynn cared. Her care, her concern, showed me God’s love in a tangible way, in a way I couldn’t disregard. She made God real to me there in the kitchen, when my doubts raged hotter than thirty-five birthday candles, when my heart weighed more than a dozen chocolate cakes — God, who suffered and died for me because He loves me.

Contemplating the cross

Over the next several weeks, I thought about Christ on the cross. For once, I didn’t rush past His death to the joy of His resurrection, as I’d always done in the past. Before I never wanted to contemplate the cross — only the empty tomb. It was the same, I realized, with my infertility. I never wanted to truly face it. Instead, I always tried to rush ahead to the prospect of having a baby. I thought that if I just believed strongly enough, I’d never have to face the hurt, the loss.

But God had forced me to pause, to consider the cost of the cross. The cross meant pain, shame, and suffering. The empty tomb, however, meant joy and fulfillment. But one doesn’t come without the other. Suffering, I discovered, is a part of life. Sorrow is a partner on the path to Christlikeness. God’s priority is our relationship — knowing Him, His sorrow and suffering, as well as His joy. And if that were the case, I could no longer use my happiness as a measure of God’s love.

Acceptance

In the four years since my thirty-fifth birthday, I’ve come to accept the idea that sometimes things just don’t make sense. The cross didn’t make sense to those who watched Jesus die. It was a strange demonstration of love. But in hindsight, we understand the sacrifice, the love that held Christ on the cross.

So perhaps someday I’ll look back on these painful years of infertility and see there, as well, the marks of God’s love for me. For now, though, I can only look to the cross and remember Jesus, too, knows what it means to hurt. I can only look into the eyes of those in whom He lives and see that He loves me.

Used with permission from Empty Womb, Aching Heart by Marlo Schalesky. 2001 Bethany House Publishers. All rights reserved.

]]>Childless on Mother’s Dayhttp://nowwhat.cog7.org/childless_on_mothers_day/
Wed, 03 Nov 2010 18:56:25 +0000http://nowwhat.cog7.org/childless_on_mothers_day/This was the day I dreaded most of the year. I almost stayed home. I almost pleaded sickness. I almost rolled over in bed and...

]]>This was the day I dreaded most of the year. I almost stayed home. I almost pleaded sickness. I almost rolled over in bed and pulled the covers over my head in tight denial. But I didn’t. Now, though, I wished I had.

With trembling hands, I clutched my Bible to my chest until my knuckles turned white. Then I stepped from the foyer into the church sanctuary. Gauzy dresses and scrubbed-pink children met my gaze. I closed my eyes.

Around me, snippets of muted conversation floated through the air as DeWayne played softly at the piano. I paused as the quiet notes of the hymn “Great is Thy Faithfulness” wafted over me.

“Are You really faithful, Lord? Even today?” I whispered. I felt goose bumps rise along my arms, despite the warmth of the morning.

Sights and smells

With a sigh, I opened my eyes and purposefully turned my head from the bulletin sticking from my Bible. I knew what the bulletin read. “Happy Mother’s Day.” But, for me, there was nothing happy about it.

I took a few steps forward. I could smell the roses before I saw them. I tried not to look, but that made it worse. Slowly, my eyes lifted from the ugly green carpet, traveled down the aisle between the long rows of pews, and stopped at the vase brimming with beautiful pink roses. Their velvety petals shimmered with tiny drops of dew beneath the church’s incandescent lights. How I hated the sight. Dozens of perfectly formed roses — one for every mother in the congregation. But not for me.

I was childless. As hard as my husband, Bryan, and I tried, we still weren’t pregnant. And no one knew what was wrong. So month after month, year after year, we tried and waited and hoped. And still Mother’s Day came along and left me sitting in the pew as all the other women went forward to be honored. I didn’t think this year would be any different.

Quickly, I slipped into a side pew, as far from the vase of roses as possible, and dropped my head. Before I could stop it, all the insensitive comments I had ever heard came flitting back through my mind:

“By the time I was your age, I already had five children.”

“Maybe God knows you wouldn’t make a very good mother.”

“How long have you been married? And you don’t have any children yet?”

Compassion, Lord? I thought. Where’s Your compassion for me today? You know what’s going to happen. It’s the same every year. The pastor will call the mothers up front, and all the women will go, smiles wreathing their faces, some with babies in their arms. And I’ll be left sitting out here in the pews, the only woman among all the men and children. Then I’ll have to hear another sermon on the joys of motherhood. I don’t think I can bear it this year. Why haven’t you allowed us to have a child? People have babies every day, people who have no business raising kids. Women get pregnant who abort their babies. The Bible says that children are a blessing from the Lord. So what about me? Why won’t You bless me?

Repeat performance

Bryan came in and sat beside me. I felt my throat tighten with un-shed tears. Quietly, he reached over and laid his hand on mine. It was the same every year. With my free hand I pulled the bulletin from my Bible and turned it over so that the “Happy Mother’s Day” part lay face-down.

Then the service began. Too soon, the part came that I dreaded most. Pastor Bill stepped to the pulpit with a huge grin on his face. “Can I have all the mothers come up front, please?”

Here we go again. I lifted my chin and tried to keep it from trembling as dozens of flowered dresses rose from their seats and swayed toward the altar. Then, as I feared, it was only me, the men, the children, and . . . hey, wait a minute!

There, three rows from the front, a little old lady with white hair still sat. I rubbed a hand over my eyes. It was Dora. Why hadn’t I noticed before that she never went up on Mother’s Day? Could it be that she, too, was childless?

I edged up in my seat to get a better look. From where I sat, I could see that her shoulders, though rounded now with age, didn’t tremble as Pastor Bill began to hand a rose to each mother. Her eyes weren’t watery like mine, her mouth wasn’t turned down, her hands weren’t fidgeting in her lap; her bulletin lay face-up beside her. As the women came back down the aisle, their roses in hand, Dora was smiling. Really smiling, not just that “I-need-to-try-to-look-pleasant-so-no-one suspects” type of smile. Her whole face was a-bloom with contentment and joy.

A special glimpse

For the rest of the service, I studied Dora as I thought and wondered. I remembered countless times when Dora had stood up and praised God for His love and faithfulness in her life. I remembered the stories of how He had been with her in the tough times as well as the good, how He had helped her during the Great Depression, how He had stayed close to her when her husband died, how He had healed her when she was in the hospital. And through it all, I could now see that strand of joy that held her life together. Joy — though she never had children. How had I missed it before?

I’d always thought that if children were a blessing from the Lord, then not being able to have children was a curse from Him. But Dora’s life testified differently. If God had not forgotten her, maybe He hadn’t forgotten me either. And just maybe — even on Mother’s Day and even though I still longed for a child of my own — I too could learn to find joy and contentment in God’s love for me.

As if in answer to my thought, Dora turned and lavished her beautiful smile on me. I felt my own face lift in return. I knew then that God had given me a special glimpse into the heart of one of His beloved. That day, without speaking a word, Dora taught me that God really is faithful and compassionate — even to the childless on Mother’s Day.

]]>Dreams That Grow Bigger After They’re Brokenhttp://nowwhat.cog7.org/dreams_that_grow_bigger/
Wed, 03 Nov 2010 18:56:25 +0000http://nowwhat.cog7.org/dreams_that_grow_bigger/She had nothing that was exclusively hers. She shared her husband with another woman: his name, his love, his bed. She had no children of...

]]>She had nothing that was exclusively hers. She shared her husband with another woman: his name, his love, his bed. She had no children of her own to keep her company during the long nights when he was with her, no one to take her side during the days of sizzling tension. There were no little ones laughing or squabbling at her dinner table, no one who called her “mother.”

What Hannah wanted most in the world was a baby. A husband could leave, love another woman, be too busy with his work. But not a child. A child would love her first and forever, because her heart would be beating in his breast, her blood flowing in his veins.

It was a simple desire, a pure dream. But no matter how much she prayed, how good she determined to be, how hard she tried, she couldn’t get pregnant. She woke up in the morning and went to bed at night with the same heavy rock in her heart. What had she ever done to deserve this kind of life?

The kicker was that Peninnah, the other wife, had not one but several babies. What Hannah went to bed crying for, woke up praying for, was an automatic, effortless achievement for other people, so why not her?

Just because her story is recorded in the Bible (1 Samuel 1) doesn’t make her a saint. She was a woman who lived with a pain that didn’t go away, a day-in-day-out kind of anguish that evolved into a year-after-year kind of suffering. Heavy with sorrow, Hannah cried, refused to eat, refused to be comforted. No easy fixes here, no quick answered prayers, no indication that God knew who she was or what her life was like.

“Come on Honey,” her husband cajoled. “Don’t make such a big deal of all this. Don’t I make up for everything you don’t have?”

Easy for him to say, this man with not one, but two women loving him and children who called him Daddy. What could he know about this gaping hole in her heart?

Her dreams of what her life was going to be like weren’t happening and it was useless to try to tell her to be thankful for what she had.

No. Quite simply, he wasn’t enough.

She was trapped, isolated in a grief that was misunderstood by her husband and provoked by the other woman. We’ve been there, done that.

When Hannah mourned her pain at church, her pastor, Eli, was shocked. The gushing torrent of pent-up anguish coming through her swaying body made her a repulsive spectacle. She had no pretty prayers to offer, no feminine charm, no acceptable performance. The heart-cry reached her lips but found no voice, making her look like a babbling drunk.

Emptying our souls

Raw brokenness is seldom attractive on anyone and often makes people around us uncomfortable, causing them to give answers quickly. “You should . . . why didn’t you . . . just be thankful . . . choose to be happy.” Their solution is as inappropriate as their conclusion.

What all of us are loath to understand — Eli, Hannah, you, me — is that our bent posture speaks of the deep purging that often accompanies pain. Emptying the bucket of un-shed tears that leaden our spirit is a cleansing in the deep places of our being, carrying the pollutants of our past. We feel lighter, cleaner after the raging torrent leaves our body.

It is in this raw mourning that our own sins are loosened from the carcass of dead expectations. The river flowing from our gut to the pillow contains residue from selfishness, secret sins, ugly habits that are loosed and emptied in the flow. Tears, we discover, are the antiseptic of God.

This process is where the seeds of our transformation lie, and to birth them we must labor alone. It is appropriate that few understand our dilemma, because we are forced to run to God alone. It may require a stronger discipline, a quieter maturity. But the pay-off is in a gentle serenity that comes from emptying our souls in prayer to a God who gave us tears and the ability to mourn in the first place. He is hardly offended. Mourning is His prescription for pain.

Hannah’s response to the man of God misjudging her speaks of the serene beauty that suffering had already worked in her:

Simple facts. No more fighting, defending, explaining. No need to manage an image anymore. She is too broken to care what other people think, what they say. This thing is between her and God, and He alone will vindicate her anguish. Humility has replaced indignity.

Creating space for bigger dreams

Small at first — ever so small and hidden, the space we create through mourning our pain begins to grow, getting ready to incubate brand new seed-dreams. But before that happens in us, we must release the old.

It’s not that Hannah’s dream of being a mother was wrong. It was just way too small. She simply wanted a cooing, gurgling baby. She was thinking about play schools, and diapers, sticky kisses, and chubby arms around her neck. They were dreams about her, for her.

God, on the other hand, was dreaming about Samuel the prophet — the boy he wanted to train for Himself. He was thinking about someone who would anoint future kings, change a nation’s destiny, establish His word in a famine of righteousness. Eternal things. But he needed a pure womb, one without strings attached. It seems they are hard to find. Even for God.

We love control and are used to managing our circumstances by negotiating the power of our femininity. Sensitivity, nurturing, beauty, sex, intuition: They all can be cashed in for what we want. When we finally come up against a foe that won’t respond to our best efforts, we are broken and baffled. Ironically, it is here at this broken place that we have the opportunity to be deeply healed.

Maybe you’re like my friend whose husband left her for a younger woman. Maybe you go to bed at night with a silent mate feeling deeply alone, or maybe losing youth and good health is a loss too bitter to bear. Perhaps it dawns on you that your child is never going to be what you intended.

Letting go

It is at this awful, ugly, and gruesome place that an alter is most appropriate.

“God,” we pray with her, “I give up. I give this dream back to You. It’s really Yours. I can’t change my circumstances. Only You can create, change, and heal.”

Finally. Quiet release. Letting go. Giving up. We are no longer responsible to make life turn out right.

In this letting go, in giving our secret, most cherished dreams to God, we unleash the divine energy that creates new life. Our shriveled, dried-up wombs are transformed from being a graveyard of aborted dreams and disappointments into a fertile pocket where new gifts, new talents, new life keep growing.

Ironically, the letting go was how Hannah got her baby. But perhaps the greatest miracle was not the new life in her womb, but the change in her. In abandoning herself to God’s way of working, being willing to endure, allowing her soul to be scraped clean from bitter selfishness, she was changed.

She was more rooted now. Knew what she knew. Was no longer afraid of loss, cared more about the eternal, loved God more.

We can learn from Hannah, you and I. The loneliness we are so afraid of is actually an invitation from God to enjoy a deeper intimacy with His heart. In this secure, safe nesting place we are healed and grow strong and create again: a new vision, a new ministry, a new career.

God and us. Birthing brand new dreams together, creating life where there is none now. New possibilities we never thought of before are suddenly happening. The darkness we thought was forever turns out to only be a night.

But it requires a cleaner womb, scraped clean from our sin disease. No more self-pity. No more self-righteousness. No more claiming how good we were, how we didn’t deserve it. No more trying to control people and situations, changing them so they will make the pain go away. No more grasping for what isn’t ours, ike husbands and children and another’s decisions and destiny.

Have you ever read the end of Hannah’s story? She kept having more babies after Samuel. She almost died, was re-birthed, and grew larger.

You will too.

The secret is in not giving up. Holding on to what you know is true. And letting go. Releasing everything that is not yours.

This article appeared in the July/August ’97 issue of Leah’s Sisters. Reprinted with permission.